


The Only One I’d Trust

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amputee Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Derek Hale Has a Crush on Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Prosthesis, Shopping, trying on clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles had a growth spurt and Derek takes him shopping for new clothes. However, Stiles has a hard time getting in and out of clothes and has to sheepishly ask for Derek’s help.





	The Only One I’d Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveyProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveyProphet/gifts).



> This is part of an AU that the wonderful LoveyProphet came up with nearly two years ago, you can check it out here - imagine-sterek.tumblr.com/tagged/amputee!stiles (sorry, links aren't working).  
> Quick synopsis: Stiles was in a car crash when he was eight years old, he lost his leg and his mother.

“You’re not serious,” Stiles said, levelling his glare on Derek.

“Stiles, look at yourself,” Derek said. “You’ve had another growth spurt; your jeans are halfway up your shins and your shirt is two sizes too small.”

Stiles tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, trying to pull it down over the pale pink scars that covered his arm.

Derek was right: the cuffs of his jeans sat a few inches up his legs – an awkward height that revealed the pale skin of his left leg and the bottom half of his prosthetic. His jacket and the long-sleeve shirt he wore underneath it were both too short to cover his arms, exposing the salmon-pink flesh of the scars that covered his right arm.

The truth was, he couldn’t afford new clothes; he and his dad had been putting all their money towards his treatment and getting a new prosthetic leg. But Derek was insistent, and Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell him he and his dad were struggling, so he went along with it.

He followed Derek through the racks of clothes, limping slightly and running his fingers over the soft cotton dress shirts.

Derek pulled a few off the racks, as well as a bunch of back dress pants, jeans, shirts, and jackets, before leading Stiles to the change rooms in the back of the store. He hung the clothes up in the room for Stiles and stepped back.

Stiles let out a soft sigh and stepped into the change room. He shut the door, turning the lock until it clicked and peering through the small crack at Derek.

“No peeking,” he said.

Derek let out a soft laugh. “No peeking,” he promised.

Stiles watched as Derek buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leant back against the hallway wall. He turned back to the stack of clothes Derek had set out.

He picked up a pale blue-grey dress shirt with bronze-coloured buttons. He picked up a pair of black pants and a brown belt that Derek had brought in, trying his best to pair it together.

He stripped out of his clothes, tossing them in the corner of the dressing room and picked up the shirt and pants. He leant back against the wall as he tried to pull the pants over his prosthetic, struggling to fit the rigid foot through the pant leg. He pulled it up to his hips, and buttoned it, sliding the belt though the loops and fastening the buckle.

He shrugged on the shirt, buttoning it up and tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

He took a second to look at himself in the mirror, shocked at how good he looked. The shirt was fitted to his broad shoulders and lean chest, filling out in all the right places.

He felt something swell in his chest, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.

 _If only I could afford it_.

His face fell at the thought.

He unlatched the lock and opened the door.

“What do you think?” he asked, cocking a brow at Derek and turning in a small circle.

Derek’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Stiles with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open and he dragged his gaze over every inch of the teen’s body.

He bit into his lips and smiled.

“Wow,” was all he was able to say.

“Okay, I don’t look that good,” Stiles scoffed.

“No, you really do,” Derek said, taking a step forward. “Try rolling up the sleeves.”

“You know I don’t do short sleeves,” Stiles said, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at the scarred flesh of his forearm.

“I know,” Derek said, his voice soft. “But it’s just the two of us.”

Stiles let out a measured breath, feeling his chest tighten as he rolled up the sleeves of the dress shirt.

Derek nodded towards the mirror behind him.

Stiles turned, looking at his reflection.

Derek was right; he did look good. He liked the way he felt, but the reality was, he couldn’t afford it.

“Derek,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t do dressy.”

“Okay,” Derek said. “Do you want to try on something more casual?”

“Alright,” Stiles said.

Derek took a step back, pulling the door shut.

Stiles locked it, taking a second to look at his reflection one last time before changing out of the clothes. He picked up a pair of black jeans Derek had found him, a dark green Henley and a black bomber jacket.

He pulled on the shirt, feeling himself smile slightly when he realised it was the same as Derek’s Henley, the one he liked—although he’d never admit it.

He grabbed the jeans and began to pull them on. He struggled to fit his prosthetic through them, struggling until frustration brought tears to his eyes.

He stopped, slumping back against the wall of the dressing room.

If he was at home, he could sit down to get dressed, but there wasn’t a bench in the change room and if he sat down on the floor, there was no guarantee he could get up again.

He hated to admit it, but he needed help.

“Derek,” he called out quietly.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t laugh,” he said, already feeling tears of shame well in his eyes.

“I’d never laugh at you,” Derek promised.

“I… I need your help.”

Derek was quiet for a moment. “With what?”

“Getting dressed,” Stiles admitted. “I can’t pull my pants up over my prosthetic, and if I take it off, I can’t balance enough to get dressed. If I unlock the door, can you help me?”

Three was a moment’s silence.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles blurted out. “I mean, we can come back another day – I’ll get dressed and we can go get lunch and jut forget—"

“Okay,” Derek said.

Stiles blinked in surprise. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and unlocking the door.

“No laughing,” he repeated warningly.

“I promise.” Derek stepped into the room, trying to keep his eyes above Stiles’ waistline. He locked the door behind himself and, without a word, knelt in front of Stiles and helped him fit his prosthetic leg into the black jeans.

“Thank you,” Stiles said, his face flushed bright red as he zipped up his fly and reached for the black bomber jacket.

“I like your Batman underwear,” Derek said.

Stiles glared at him. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” Derek said genuinely. “They match my Superman underwear—and I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

It was enough to break the tension in the room.

Derek stood up, his eyes rolling over Stiles. A sweet smile played across his lips. “That looks good on you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, a hint of sadness in his voice as he looked in the mirror. “It does.”

“Do you want to try the other one?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded.

Derek picked up the other bomber jacket he had picked out. It was light grey with patches sewn onto it—one with an eagle on and embroidered letters that read ’68 STRIKE FORCE, and another that said US ARMY, and a third on the sleeve of the jacket that was three arrow-like stirpes pointing upwards; sergeant’s stripes.

“We can change out the patches if you want,” Derek offered. “They’ve got a bunch of them in the arts and crafts store a few shops down; Cora loves to collect them.”

“Do they have any wolves?” Stiles asked.

“Everything from wolves, to the NASA logo, dinosaurs, cupcakes, rainbows.”

“Perfect,” Stiles said with a smile.

“Try it with this shirt,” Derek said, handing Stiles a white tee-shirt.

Stiles took the shirt, passing Derek the black bomber jacket. He pulled the dark green Henley over his head.

Derek froze, unable to take his eyes off Stiles.

He was surprisingly fit; thick biceps, broad chest, and pale skin pulled tight across his firm abs. Scattered moles charted constellations across his skin, the scars from the car crash crawling up his side and across his skin like nebulas. A trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. He couldn’t help but watch the way his muscled flexed with his movements as he pulled the shirt on and tugged the hem down, covering his body.

Derek bit into his lip, forcing himself to look away. HIs cheeks were flushed pink and his heart was hammering against his chest.

“What do you think?” Stiles asked, his voice stirring Derek from his thoughts.

Derek looked up.

“Wow,” Derek said, stunned.

Stiles raised a brow at him, levelling his eyes with Derek as he stared at him in disbelief.

“I mean it,” Derek argued. “You look great.”

“I like it,” Stiles said. “But it still feels a little too dressy.”

Derek reached behind him and held up a sweatshirt. It was grey at the top and black at the bottom.

Stiles smirked as he took it from Derek, shrugging off the grey bomber jacket and hanging it back up on the coat hanger before pulling on the sweatshirt.

Derek couldn’t help but smile as Stiles’ first instinct was to shove his hands in the pocket and curl into the warmth of the jumper.

“I’m going to guess you like it?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, smiling back at him.

“Do you want to try on the blue jeans too?” Derek asked. “They’re a slightly different fit.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down without hesitation.

Derek tried not to look at Stiles’ legs – his thick thighs, the soft skin of his faded scars. He knelt down and helped Stiles pull the jeans off his prosthetic leg.

Stiles shifted anxiously on the spot.

Derek knew he was self-conscious about his scars; he wore shorts because he’d overheat while training for track, but he never seemed comfortable with it, and Derek had never seen him wear short sleeves.

“That in itself is a good look on you,” Derek said, stealing a glance at Stiles’ Batman boxers and the sweatshirt.

Stiles glared at him, gently shoving at him with his foot.

Derek chuckled, steadying himself and helping Stiles pull the jeans on.

“How do they feel?” Derek asked.

“Good,” Stiles replied. “But they’re a bit long.”

Derek looked down at where the cuff of the jeans touched the floor. “We can always take them up,” he said, rolling up the cuff of the jeans so that they sat properly. “And if you have another growth spurt, you can take them down again.”

Stiles looked down at himself.

“Derek,” Stiles started, but his voice faltered.

“A tiger has his stripes?” Derek guessed.

A soft pink blush coloured Stiles’ cheeks as he nodded.

“And like every red-blooded American man, you can’t live without your plaid,” Derek said, pulling a red and black plaid shirt from under the pile of clothes.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

He pulled the sweatshirt off and took the shirt from Derek, pulling it on.

“There’s also a blue and black one out on the rack if you like the size,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded, his shoulders sagging as he seemed to relax. But the smile fell from his face.

“Derek, I can’t…” He let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t afford these.”

He didn’t look at Derek—he couldn’t. He didn’t need to see the pity in his eyes.

“All of our money’s going towards the new prothesis,” he explained. “I can’t afford new clothes.”

“Then I’ll buy them,” Derek said without a second of hesitation.

“What?” Stiles said, looking at his friend. “No, I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking,” Derek replied. “I’m offering—actually, I’m stating.”

“Derek, this is too much,” Stiles argued.

“Consider it a birthday present.”

“My birthday was a month ago,” Stiles pointed out.

“Then consider it a late birthday present,” Derek corrected.

Stiles let out a deep sigh; he knew he wasn’t going to win this fight. “Fine,” he huffed.

Derek helped him get changed back into his normal clothes before collecting the pile of clothes and making their way back into the store. He did another round of the store, picking out a few variations of the clothes Stiles had liked before making his way over to the counter.

He paid for them, despite the glare Stiles levelled on him and the pout on his friend’s face.

“Come on,” he said, taking the bags and leading Stiles down to the arts and crafts store. “You can pick out all the badges you want… Just don’t tell Cora I came here without her.”

Stiles chuckled.

He made his way down the aisle, picking out a few badges that he liked: a grey wolf, a fox, a black anchor with a golden length of rope coiled around it, the letter S, and embroidered captain’s bars – his dad’s military rank.

Stiles felt bad that Derek insisted on buying him these things. He swore he’d pay him back one way or another, but until then, he was grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
